This chapter covers elements of my depressive episode.
Floating away in June
Where does one begin when you're being stung by familiar pain?
I can feel my world growing gray, more grim and dull as time passes.
I have less interest in the things I love than I did yesterday, I feel like I'm fading away.
I am a balloon at a child's birthday party, a bright orange one, but as life has it things change and I'm floating away.
I'm floating up into the sky to rest and visit the clouds once more.
Sunlight through the trees
Something about being depressed is like being lost in the woods,
You don't know where you are, how you got there, when you'll get out,
It's a long script of questions that replay in my mind.
I get lost in the snow, I sleep in the dirt, but there are things in this woods that give me hope that I'll one day be out of it.
The sunlight through the trees highlights what one day will be.
One day I will dance happily in a meadow, one day I'll forget what it's like to be beneath the trees.
One day this will all be over, I take a hold of that truth like the hand of my lover, after all, what else is there left if not hope.
Mary, the living dead girl
When I first met Mary I knew there was something about her that was unlike the rest.
She carried herself in a way I've never seen one carry themselves.
She was detached but seemed to come with me everywhere I went.
It began when she'd come over to my house unannounced, soon she came to all my friendly gatherings leaving me feeling alone in a crowded room.
I guess I am always
I often find myself feeling alone in crowded rooms.
I am surrounded by people who want nothing but the best for me, but the tinted glass never shatters.
I love the humans, I love what they do, it's all beautiful to me, but I am not a part of the world as they are.
Even in my closest moments I am but a witness to what I suspect and believe I will never have.
Bedtime routine
As of late I often find myself in the repetitive routine of waking up and waiting until nightfall.
When the sun is out I try my best to enjoy myself, I take out my paint brushes and water colors.
But I almost always find myself staring at a blank canvas.
Minutes pass, hours even, and I realize I've been looking at my empty painting without a thought in mind.
Something about the hours past sunset are special to me, there is nothing quite like it.
I feel peace in a way daylight cannot bring me.
Blue mornings
When late nights turn into early mornings I often find myself listening to the album with the blue cover.
The song's melody brings oot a peaceful kind of sadness, an acceptance for what is true.
On these nights I draw pretty pictures and write lovely poems.
And on those mornings I watch the sunrise from my bedroom window.
YOU ARE READING
Letters from sixteen
PoetryA poetry book I wrote during periods of my life with many different facets. I wrote about happy moments, addiction, and trauma, the book becomes more depressing as it goes on. I choose the title "letters from sixteen" to capture how I wanted to capt...
